


Communication

by rudbeckia



Series: Cantina Drabbles [3]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Community: Kylux Cantina, M/M, Wordcount: 100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 18:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15669177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: 100-word drabbles based on prompts with the theme of communication.All kylux, more or less canonverse.





	Communication

===  
No matter what they say, both officers and stormtroopers have one thing in common: their unconditional love to gossip  
===

Hux glares at the disciplined line of officers at rigid attention, unblinking.  
“You there.” Hux points. “Tell me who is responsible for this preposterous gossip.”  
Mitaka flicks a glance at Hux. “Don’t know, sir.”  
“Well, one of you started it. Someone spread the news that Leader Ren and I are... involved.” Hux swallows and clenches his fists. “With each other. Physically. Ugh. Confess and you will live. Make me find out for myself and I will have you executed for—”  
He sees another figure, lurking at the end of the line, hand raised.  
“Sorry, darling,” says Ren. “It was me.”

 

===  
Message in a bottle  
===

“What’s this?”  
Hux lifted the unfamiliar bottle from his desk and studied the label. Mitaka raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know, sir. Shall I run a review of security to find out who broke into your office?”  
“No,” Hux put the bottle down. “This is rare. Whoever it was has impeccable taste.”  
“Very good sir. If you don’t need me...”  
“Well then. Run along.” Hux smiled at the gift. “Dismissed.”  
He poured a glass, sat down, inhaled sweet vapour and sipped, sighing as a figure stepped out of hiding.  
“You accept my apology?” said Ren.  
“Yes,” replied Hux. “Join me?”

 

===  
Ground Control to Major Tom, your circuit's dead, there's something wrong/Can you hear me, Major Tom?  
===

“Ren! We can’t cover you. You must turn back.”  
There’s only hiss then silence from Ren’s comm. Hux bites his lip and shakes his head.  
“You’re too far out! Our shields won’t protect you!”  
He knows he shouted, as if that would help Ren hear. Cheeks flaming, eyes closed, Hux grips the bridge guard rail hard. Pain brings him clarity.  
“We must go to him. Calculate a hyperspace jump that will take us to a position half a shiplength behind Ren’s Silencer.”  
The officer on Navigation balks until Hux yells, “DON’T MAKE ME DO IT MYSELF!” then springs into action.

===  
knowing glances / silent communication  
===

Hux knows it was a dangerous manoeuvre. One figure input to the wrong number of significant figures and their jump would have obliterated Ren’s fighter and a portion of The Finalizer’s hull. He runs to the turbolift and orders it to the hangar where Ren has drifted home. He braces for cold rebuke and a dig that he is unfit for command since he endangered a star destroyer for the sake of one precious life. 

But as Ren pushes himself out of the tiny, bulbous cockpit, limps forward and makes eye contact, Hux feels only the warmth of Ren’s relief.

 

===  
Kylo teaches Hux how to project his thoughts through the force so they can communicate.  
===

Hux huffs. “It won’t work.”  
“No,” Ren concedes. “Not with that attitude. Calm your thoughts.”  
“I am calm!”  
“You’re not. I feel your emotions.” Ren shakes his head. “Like watching a hive with bees all buzzing around it.”  
“Are you telling me,” Hux says, “that I have a bee in my bonnet?”  
“A whole colony under your cap.” Ren grins.  
“I’m not force sensitive.”  
“Everything alive is force sensitive,” counters Ren, “to some extent.”  
“Not me,” says Hux. _can see into his robe he’d look kriffing hot shirtless_  
Ren shrugs the robe from his shoulders. “Thanks, honey. I work out.”

 

===  
All it took was one misunderstood order.  
===

Kylo looks as sheepish as possible for a man in a mask. Only Hux interprets his change in bearing and sees his embarrassment. Under the slowly turning windmill sails, oozing blood from a head wound onto the green plastigrass flooring, lies the inert form of Edrison Peavey.  
“That was brutal, Ren. Is he dead?”  
“No,” Ren gives a tiny headshake. “Unconscious. He’ll recover.”  
“Why in the galaxy did you whack Peavey with your putter?”  
“He made an inappropriate suggestion! Propositioned you!”  
“It’s the officers’ crazy golf tournament, you oaf. He only asked me to go round him in the putt!”


End file.
